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Musing of a Wonderland Nature
2k5 - Thursday, July 31, 2014, 6:37 PM -------------------------------------- Contents: Medical Rules Harrow's Office Airlift's Office Medic Obvious exits: East leads to Medical Library - Darkmount. Out leads to Atrium - Darkmount. Counterpunch is floating down the corridor as if he were upon a lilo. He gently propels himself down the corridor by paddling occasionally. To add to the effect a glass is gently bobbing alongside him which he occasionally lifts to his faceplate, takes a sip, then places back upon the imaginary waterline to let it bob about again. Like most of his tricks he's taking lots of liberties with his anti-grav to create the effect but, even knowing the trick, it still looks impressive. At least that what Seven says. Four couldn't care unless it's the trick with the pineapple. As he drifts into the workshop he flicks his wrist and two cigs appear in his right hand. Upon some unbidden command they brust into flame and Counterpunch starts puffing the life out of both of them. He's looking casually around for someone to ask a few questions but he hired the lilo for the hour and he's not quite done yet. Arachnae sits at a counter with wings mantled high over shoulders. Surrounding her are two mobile workstations creating a 'U' shaped workspace. Those surfaces are all bestrewn with baubles, trinkets, spools of glittering monofillimant, an optic or three glittering in their containers with dead malevolence, a few phalanges, and a mug. The mug seems to have been repaired recently, a thin soldering line crossing the decorative image adorning it of Hook and Scrapper facing off and in the background is a slightly blurry Scavenger. The caption reads 'Chaos theory at Work'. The mug has something in it that occasionally emits a burble and a small 'pop-hiss' of released gas. Like most medics, or at least ones of her nature, when the door opens, she looks over, panels behind her rustle-rattling softly. A single brow lifts, optics narrowing as she watches Counterpunch like one watches a very rare snake. You know it could bite you, but it's simply /fascinating/ to observe. "Hmmmm..." she voices, "Enjoying the cycle?" she inquires politely. As a tradition with most of Counterpunch's tricks he's gotten bored and the glass falls helplessly to the floor. It lands base down, undamaged, and Counterpunch gives it a brief look. Ah well. You can't have everything. He returns his attentions to where they never left at the vision before him. As he dismounts the lilo and swims to shore he says, "Twinkle twinkle kitty cat . . . how I wonder where you're at? Who are you and where do I find one?" He vents the smoke he drew in from his faceplate and it forms a series of long twisting strands that start to curl into the form Counterpunch aimed to create. A little smoke hydra with the eight smaller snake like heads guarding the ninth immortal head in the middle. Seventeen's trying to say something but Counterpunch is not listening. He's captivated. Arachnae turns fully about on her stool, watching Counterpunch, expression a split between wary and /interested/. Optics track the glass to the floor before she picks her own mug up and takes a sip of the burbling concoction. Mug pauses at lips as she listens to Counterpunch.. babble? Mumble? "Alice in wonderland?" she queries before smiling faintly, "Medic. And medics are found in medical usually." dry tone, amused. "Arachnae is my designation at this time." Now attached to the ground via the more pedestrian means of gravity he walks over to his new found interest. Seventeen accidently got pushed into the box on purpose. "Counterpunch . . . although I'd happily catch any classification you'd throw my way. A medic? More of the theory than the malpractice I was looking for but, if I'm right, I've found someone pretty special nonetheless." "I was going to open with a joke about having a broken infuser I needed you to fix but now . . .I just don't have the heart for it." Counterpunch says as he draws deeply off his cigs. "Would you like one . . . or several?" he offers as he vents, adding new heads to the hydra as if some foolish hero hadn't read the lore, before continuing "So . . . think you can help expand my mind? Answer those burning questions that drew me towards you tonight?" Arachnae rises to her peds, mug in hand and still looking at Counterpunch with such avid interest. A blink, a rustle and she sips again, shaking her head and focusing. With a quiet tone, she gives response, "Interesting." Smile: faint and slightly crooked. "Oh.. I haven't had any complaints in eons. Nor any malpractice charges either. It's quite untoward as well as petty and pedantic." Wings shift in absent patterns behind her, rustling. "I'm here and available to serve the empire as needed. Questions fall under that umbrella certainly." Her head tilts, expression mild, "How can I help you today?" A nod for the e-cig. "Hmm, haven't had one of these in ages..." Counterpunch smiles a faceless smile. With a left handed handed draw he make a third cig appear from nowhere and, the observant would comment, without the aid of subspace for the sleight of hand. Counterpunch's a professional after all. Spinning the unlit cig round so it is correctly orientated for Arachnae he takes a draw of his own. While his right hand's free Counterpunch snaps his fingers causing the third to self ignite. Pleased with the effort Counterpunch, with a small bow and a flourish, offers the now lit cig. "What I need to know is more about our nature . . . why we are who we are." In what is an unusual lack of maniacal laughter for him Counterpunch continues quite seriously. Even if his tone fails to reflect this in any way,"Small boring stuff. I'm one of Galvatron's faithful super-spies. Though I'm the one who adds the super to that little equation. What I want to know comes under all sorts of secrecy stuff and should have came with a tonne of paperwork to sign." As he pauses to take another draw he crushes a datapad and, without looking, tosses it into a hazardous waste bin."As long as you promise to me we'll keep it just between us that'll do for me . . .deal?" Arachnae takes the cig with a "Thank you." and partakes while leaning back against the countertop. There's a quiet moment, no rustling, no rasping, no sips of dubious beverage as she listens to Counterpunch. She could be a statue save for the soft golden-green glow of her optics. "Ah." A singular noise both sound and word, meaning everything and nothing all at once. "In reverse, I'd prefer not to be on any lists of questionable personages, thus I won't bespeak of it willingly." Slow pull off the smoke, optics glittering, voice a velvet purr, "Orders, however, are always orders. If they come from the correct personages." Lips crook again. "I know who you are but thank you for the clarification and reminder." She shifts, spanning wings behind her so that they drape with a semi-fluidic grace behind and around her. "Philosophy? But we've only just met." "Oh this is fun. I do like to move quickly . . ." Counterpunch says, ". . . I'd hate to think I let an experience pass me by before it's too late. Dangerous stuff spy work. You don't really get told when you're to be retired." Intaking then venting more smoke he says, "Love the wings by the way. What kind of span do you get at full stretch with them?" Taking another draw he continues, "Good enough for me. I don't really do paperwork . . . It's a bad habit. As you know we can become other than as we are right now. I can think of at least one case that would indeed be a shame but, nevertheless, we can." "Some can do more of these double-acts, some as many as a sextuplet. Not everyone can take the stage in that many different costumes and it gets worse. The body shapes the mind. Some so much so that it could even be said that the different forms were different personas over and above that of good character acting. The question I've been tasked with was this." He vents out smoke before asking, very carefully, "If that were to happen. If one mode were that radically different from another that the excess code required to use it became a lurking monster could the mode, monster and all be separated from the subject without their certain death?" Arachnae sips that beverage of hers slowly, listening. She's curious, all together too curious. And more than happy to fill in the conversation with 'idle' banter to get to the point. "Intelligent banter while feigning disinterest and displaying little to no negative physical cues is rather hard to come by these cycles." Slow draw, wings rustling before they creak outwards, then upwards, spars shifting until tips touch the floor and fully create an oblong behind her before fanning out to the sides and then folding back behind her frame. All the while speaking softly. "Not my favorite thing in the universe either, paperwork. But it is useful for.. retrieving past experiments and in depth analysis of various subjects." Smile, just shy of a grin that morphs into a very intense stare, optics glittering, lips thinned to an almost feral upturn. "Theoretically?" Velvet purr over sand, raspy, excitement perhaps peeking through the genteel facade of manners and polite speech. "It has been.. theorized by several that should there be a schism in the physicality of the cortical matrix that..." She snap-turns, wings crackling, footfalls turning to pacing, a caged quality to the movements. "Yes. It is.. theoretically possible." More than that she won't commit. Not yet, this could be a trap. Counterpunch is a trained operative. Most people'd describe him as a maniac but, as he'd never say, you'd be surprised how useful the crazy person who no one wants to talk to is. It takes every describable measure of that training and experience to show no visible sign of reaction. Almost purring Counterpunch says, "Oooh kitty. You wouldn't be toying with my fragile fractured mind?" A plume of smoke dispels the hydra and new strands form a new shape. A ornate frame shortly followed by spidery trails giving the metaphorical mirror a shattered effect. "I'd need to find a way to find out more. Unless you happen to have hapless horrors that you could hold and heartily experiment on I'd need to find a way to find some of my own." Taking another draw he says, "That may have the terribly unfortunate side effect of having to keep company with me again on occasion. Some people say I'm bad company I'm afraid." Pausing to look at his cracked mirror he then says "What would you have me do? For this work of mine is nothing without you." Arachnae is a researcher at core. As cut-throat of a bunch of mechanisms as any, if not more if grant permission is at stake. Optics slit and the grin that forms across her face could be considered feline, if of the cheshire variety. She turns that wicked, wicked smile to Counterpunch, "Oh... Perhaps you should review records on a femme called Chimera.." Slight pause, "My -daughter-, so to speak, is a rather unique creation." A pause, smile slides to a frown, "I do hope that she is functional. I am ever so fond of all of my creational handiwork." Pace, pad, pad, turn, "Not that I can fully lay claim to the instigation of that brilliance, however the originator is quite /dead/ and she is *mine*." "Noted." Counterpunch says before rewinding and replaying the words. "Now, kitty, I wonder if you're not giving yourself enough credit here. You created a chimera when I can only do a Hydra. Mine's only made of smoke too. I'll do the research and find your first . . . as it's always special the first time . . . but . . . not that I'm sure you'd be interested . . . if I could secure a subject and resources . . . could you make another? A demonstration model for showing addition and subtraction?" Counterpunch asks with extra curiosity in his voice towards the end. Arachnae pacing stops, she slowly turns to study Counterpunch, expression wary and intrigued all at once. "I've created many a wonderous thing, a symphony, a chimera, sown strife, reaped whirlwinds." Conspiratorial wink, "For a few fleeting weeks, I've even made the flightless into the flighted. Pity they didn't give me more time with that one. I was quite close to adding to my creations." Wistful smile, "But it does not do one to rest on ones laurels." Optics darken, blacken almost, wings rustle. "These things, they take time to build, to blossom, to bloom in despair, little night flowers of id and ego twisted and gnarled, bulbous offspring in foetid mindscapes awaiting harvest." She cocks her head to the side, "Hmmm. Pardon the poetics. Most care only to be repaired to go forth and dance the endless dance. Sometimes there's a little bit of angel in all of us, hmmm?" "There can be . . . but I have redeeming features too." Counterpunch says with a vent of smoke and a faceless grin. "Like my relative autonomy and access to resources from multiple sources. Whatever you desire, whatever piece you had dared to compose only to have that dream dashed by the choking of lack of resource or force of will . . . you shall not find me lacking." More smoke curls before Counterpunch says, "The quotients are largely irrelevant in my experience. Let us say that, for a fact, that you are damnation and ruin incarnate. No hope or alternative present. That being the case I'd still be compelled, dedicated and enthralled to say . . . the prospect, and you, never looked better according to this tortured silicon soul. So, Arachnae, what do you say? can I call upon you to grace me with a private performance?" Arachnae blinks once, before tilting her head back and laughing. A delighted, airy, bell-like laugh, so out of place in the here and now. Gone is the darker countenance, the slight posturing of wings to portray that subconscious feral state, the soft thrum of intakes silenced. Even her wings give a glitter, panels showing a light phosphorescence on the interiors. Optics glimmer and glow a golden green, "I do live to serve the empire, my dear Counterpunch." Tone a light alto, "And in aiding you with your.. -queries- and research into this field, I continue to do so, yes?" Merry smile, delight written on her face at the mere thought of continuing her lifes work. Voice drops, "I'd be delighted to assist you." Buzzsaw arrives from the Atrium - Darkmount. Buzzsaw has arrived. "And here I am just delighted." Counterpunch says at the words said and the vibrant display he was privileged to behold. "Alas details will need to be dealt with but that can be left to another time." Counterpunch puts his hand to his head. "I'm needed elsewhere" he sighs, "If you will excuse me?" Counterpunch politely asks before waiting to be dismissed. Buzzsaw glides his way in, immediately alighting on the nearest perch available and frowning. He's not in a /terrible/ way, but he looks like he's been blasted by a rocket and maybe a few lasers... but that shouldn't be anything terribly new, either. The bird does have a keen ability to pick fights with big mechs. "I trust there are capable hands on shift this cycle, yes?" Arachnae shifts wings behind her, smile still present. "By all means, do as you need to, my dear Counterpunch. Your work gives me time to recall and revisit my past endeavors to insure that I am up to date. Walk with the winds." She looks at the cig in hand, "Hmmm. Need to pick up more of these..." Padding to the U shaped counter, she picks her mug back up, and sips, staring off blankly for but a moment, a delighted.. giggle emitting before she intakes air and schools her features back to what's typically expected. Amused interest at best. "There are hands on shift, yes. Capable... That can be subject to interpretation." Buzzsaw glances at Counterpunch, studying the mech for a moment before his attention returns to Arachnae. "If my wings end up backwards, you will most likely have both myself and Soundwave to deal with. If you can avoid that, then I would assume they are capable hands." He blinks his optics, looking back at Counterpunch. "I would like to get my wings back under me proper, to start hunting out the neutrals in those tunnels we chased the Autobots into during their recent incursion into Crystal City." Counterpunch moves with surprising speed. Brushing past Arachnae he deposits a carton of his brand of cigs on the counter with a notation upon them 'With compliments' and then . . . he's gone. Almost as if he were never there. Counterpunch has left. Arachnae turns her attention to Buzzsaw, expression all at one thoughtful and curious. "I've been delt with before by Soundwave on several occasions. Pick a new threat please." Smile. "If it weren't for him, I'd not be the femme I am today." Amused chuckle as she pads towards Buzzsaw, pulling her scanner out. "Now that we've gotten past the posturing stage, I hope, let me see what I can do for you this cycle." Buzzsaw chuckles softly. "It was no threat, more a warning I have had to deliver to the less adept that get stationed here." He disconnects the weapons-sled that carries his engines, letting it slide off his back and onto the medslab to facilitate work. "I've not seen you here often, I assume you are busy?" Combat: Arachnae runs a diagnostic check on Buzzsaw =[ Evaluation of Buzzsaw ] Buzzsaw is conscious and COMBAT-OK. Buzzsaw is severely wounded. Arachnae lets the scanner ply its trade while Buzzsaw readies himself. "I had some downtime. Systemic de-fragmentation of all neural indices and cortical relays. About 5 terran years. In a secure location of course." Wings rustle behind her. "Warning, threat. Neither are needed. I pride myself on my work. After all, they won't authorize the more interesting research if you're under a malpractice watch." A wink as she selects a tool from a tray that one of the under-techs wheels over. "Why hunt neutrals? They can contribute to society as a whole after all." Conversational tone. Buzzsaw chuckles softly. "I made a promise to one of the Autobots." He pulls up a holo-file, projecting it on the slab in front of him. "Designation: Shiftlock. Investigation through our records correlates a presence within the rebels that are causing problems within Crystal City. Her former 'team', if you will. In keeping with my current taskings, I plan on hunting her former companions down until support for the Autobot cause becomes more of a liability than they could ever anticipate." Combat: Arachnae expertly repairs Buzzsaw's injuries. Combat: Arachnae is able to repair some of Buzzsaw's internal systems damage. Arachnae hmms, pulling an overhead light into place, spraying some sort of localized numbing agent and then, setting that tool aside, extending her talons. Those she uses to delicately manipulate the damaged sections of wing back into place. With a built in arc welding capability at the tips, who needs extra tools! "Interesting. This a subset of a larger plan to engineer obedience through fear or something a bit more personal?" Talons give tiny ozone-emitting -zots- here and there as she fairly weaves bits together. Buzzsaw chuckles softly. "Fear is the byproduct of resistance. It is a matter of wills. To break one, you must break many. When the allies of the Autobots begin to realize the toll for this war rests solely on their shoulders, they will begin to capitulate. When they do, the Autobots will then be alone to carry the consequences of their defiance. Those who attempt to resist, or who fear and act out in that fear, will be harvested. Those who capitulate will find there is nothing to fear, for now they serve the Cause of the Empire." He clicks his beak, turning to watch the work being done on him. "Though, I would be lying if I did not express a desire for resistance. There is a certain music to the final screams of those who realize that all they hope and fight for is meaningless, and that their deactivation, and the deactivations of those before them, was in vain." Arachnae emits a low hmmm, a thoughtful sound as she listens but focuses on the work at talon-tip. "I'm not particularly interested in screaming aside from a benchmark as part of a project. Some test subjects need to scream before you can proceed to to the next stage after all." She leans in a bit, pushing her visor off of her optics to refocus. A hand reaches out to snag a spool of mono-molecular filament, of which she uses to 'stitch' a panel back into place. "But I do see its necessity in the line work for others. Not a personal preference though." Wings partially fan out and give a slight crackle before settling. "Fear is a mindkiller. It's like a little death that can bring total obliteration." Amused smile crossing her face. Buzzsaw chuckles and nods. "This is true. For me, I use them." He settles himself back down comfortably. "With careful manipulation of the subject, the screams are musical notes to be utilized in a symphony composed of their peers; those who came before them. A never-ending opus of grand design, forged by only the most crude and raw of emotions. Unrefined, raw, and brutally honest in design." He would grin if the beak would allow him to do so. "Perhaps, one day, I shall play it for all of Cybertron to hear." Arachnae tsk-tsks, "Careful. I'd not like to redo this particular junction point so if you would remain still." Her hands freeze over the wing while she waits a moment before continuing. "Your magnum opus then?" she asks, tone curious. "Wouldn't it be strange to accomplish that.. All this time and then.. it's over." Talons click together, a last panel slid into place for attachment. "I hope to once cycle have an opus in mind myself." "Until victory is achieved, it will not be finished." He remains still while work is being done. He knows the routine very well. "But, back to the original question, this is why I seek to hunt the neutrals." He clicks his beak softly. "To break an Autobot." Arachnae gives a nod then a verbal, "Until then, many things will not be complete. And until then, many things cannot be started." She taps the scanner, rechecking her work, musing, "Where one falls, there is a weak point to pick at. They do get rather attached to one another." Buzzsaw nods slowly. "Which makes crushing one all the more pleasurable. When one suffers, they all will inevitably suffer." Combat: Arachnae runs a diagnostic check on Buzzsaw =[ Evaluation of Buzzsaw ] Buzzsaw is conscious and COMBAT-OK. Buzzsaw is in perfect health. Arachnae picks up a tin and a small brush, using that to paint on a thin layer of nanites. "These will integrate the filaments and the paneling with your systems. You will most likely need a touch up for paint, however your flight should only be restricted to the next cycle. After that, light duty as you are able." She steps back tidying the work area. "Kick one and the rest cry. I know." Buzzsaw nods. "Very well." He waits for the application to finish before looking his wing over critically, running a few diagnostics to make sure everything is working as intended. Or, rather, as needed. "Thank you." Arachnae sends a quick ping to the HIS, uplinking her notes on the work performed this shift. "You are quite welcome, Buzzsaw. I don't believe you need the usual spiel on refueling, resting and staying out of trouble so I kept to the basics." Buzzsaw chuckles softly, hopping his way over to the refueling station without use of the wings to get plugged in for his usual recharge. "Naturally." Medic says, "Shaken or stirred?" Combat: Medic refuels Buzzsaw's energon reserves. Arachnae smiles and heads back to her little nook of medical, settling on a stool and going back to reviewing records. "Have a nice cycle Buzzsaw." She smiles, picks up her mug and goes back to her research.